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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687539">at least kiss me just to shut me up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy'>oopshidaisy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, but in the most idiotic possible way, i realised my love language is words of affirmation while writing this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:02:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The carving on the bridge was meant to contain it: faulty logic dictated that if he just got it out there once, somehow that’d be enough.<br/>When the school year starts, it becomes clear that’s not the case in the slightest. It’s just that Eddie keeps existing, and how exactly is Richie meant to deal with that shit? On their first day back, Eddie tells him his face looks stupid and Richie nearly swoons.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>at least kiss me just to shut me up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from 'say it, just say it' by the mowgli's</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s just that Richie can’t help it. His brain-to-mouth filter’s shit—everyone knows that—and when he thinks or feels something it’s out there in the world before he can think twice about it. And normally it’s low stakes stuff, dirty jokes and the like, because he’s never been the sort of kid with secrets. Except now <em>I’m gay and in love with Eddie Kaspbrak </em>is beating a steady staccato rhythm inside his head at practically every hour of every day, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to stop himself from blurting it out at every given opportunity.</p><p>The carving on the bridge was meant to contain it: faulty logic dictated that if he just got it out there <em>once</em>, somehow that’d be enough.</p><p>When the school year starts, it becomes clear that’s not the case in the slightest. It’s just that Eddie keeps <em>existing</em>, and how exactly is Richie meant to deal with that shit? On their first day back, Eddie tells him his face looks stupid and Richie nearly swoons.</p><p>So, all in all, it’s a miracle he lasts as long as he does before he lets something slip.</p><p>Their first few weeks back, he gets into a habit of biting down on the inside of his cheek or his tongue or his lips every time he’s hit with the urge for confession, and it’s working well except for how the inside of his mouth is near-constantly coated with blood. Eddie and the others even notice a couple of times, and Eddie gets a little panicky about it because there’s no way to get a plaster to stick inside a mouth.</p><p>“I mean, really,” he says indignantly, “of all the places to hurt yourself, Richie, it <em>had to be </em>the one place where we can’t do a fucking thing about it. Real smart.”</p><p>“It was an accident,” Richie lies (he’s getting better at that). “And it’ll heal lickety-split, Dr Edward, no need to worry your pretty little head.”</p><p>“My head’s not little.”</p><p>“But it sure is pretty,” Richie says, ruffling his hair.</p><p>“Alright, you two, give it a rest,” Stan cuts in. “Has anyone got the answers for the math homework?”</p><p>There are a few small slip-ups along that line. Richie catches himself calling Eddie cute, pretty, adorable—but it makes the other Losers laugh and Eddie scowl, so he figures it’s nothing incriminating. Nothing that can’t be waved away as typical teen-boy stuff.</p><p>It’s mid-October when he fucks up. They don’t spend as much time in the clubhouse anymore—they’re down a member, for one thing, and it’s getting too cold for another—but one weekend they go down with pillows and blankets and make a fort, overly elaborate in a way only kids could make it. Richie ends up between Eddie and Stan, underneath the part of the structure that’s most liable to leak. He’s wearing two jumpers and three pairs of socks, curled up under the spare double duvet he’d managed to sneak out of his parents’ closet, and he’s still shivering so much that his teeth are chattering. He’s too tall and skinny to be able to retain heat—or at least that’s what his mother grumbled when she took him shopping for a new winter coat at the start of September—and Maine’s not exactly known for unseasonably warm winters.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie grumbles.</p><p>“I c-c-can’t help it,” Richie says. “F-fuck, I s-sound like B-b-bill.”</p><p>“Hey!” Bill calls from the opposite side of the hideout.</p><p>“Yeah. Beep beep, Richie,” Stan murmurs, sounding halfway to sleep already. Stan’s always been that kid at the sleepover, asleep before midnight and awake before the parents.</p><p>Richie huffs and makes a show of settling further into his pile of cushions, tucking his knees in to his chest.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers, loudly. “Just come over here if you’re gonna be a bitch about it. My blanket’s electric.”</p><p>“I love you,” Richie says, rolling over and into the nest Eddie’s made for himself.</p><p>“Um,” Eddie says.</p><p>“Move over, then.” Richie’s heart is beating a little too fast; he ignores it. As long as no one says anything, he’s still safe.</p><p>It’s warmer beside Eddie, or maybe it’s just the blush that Richie can feel spreading from his face to the tips of his fingers. The electric blanket is heavy and comforting, and Richie shudders as he settles into it. It’s dark enough that he can only make out the vague shape of where Eddie begins next to him. He stretches out his feet and one catches on Eddie’s ankle.</p><p>“Touch me with those blocks of ice again and I’ll make you sleep outside,” Eddie hisses.</p><p>“Sure,” Richie says through a yawn. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”</p><p>“Oh my god, shut <em>up</em>,” Stan mutters. Richie flips him off even though it’d be impossible for him to see. It’s the thought that counts.</p><p>*</p><p>Turns out it’s addictive. Whatever hope he’d had that saying <em>I love you </em>once would put the whole thing to bed disintegrates almost immediately – because there’s something addictive in the way world hadn’t come crashing down. No one had said anything; he’d gotten away with it. It’s a little bit like pulling off a heist.</p><p>He calls Eddie ‘Eds’ for the indignant noise it produces in him, calls him cute because it makes him blush, says <em>I love you </em>when Eddie does anything from lending him a pencil to using the last of his pocket money to get the comic Richie can’t afford by himself.</p><p>He even extends the heist metaphor. With every successful declaration he gets more careless, takes more risks.</p><p>They find a magpie’s nest in the woods one October evening, a treasure trove of practically worthless shiny things; Richie gets to one knee holding the cheap, glittery ring and says, “Eddie Regina Kaspbrak, will you marry me?”</p><p>Only Ben actually laughs, but for Richie that’s a pretty successful joke. If he needs to pass it off as a joke.</p><p>“That’s not my middle name,” Eddie says, snatching the ring out of his outstretched hand. He’s frowning.</p><p>“Eddie Josephine Kaspbrak.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Eddie Fr—”</p><p>“Alright, alright, Richie you’re not as funny as you think you are,” Bill says.</p><p>Richie harrumphs, jumps to his feet. “I’m exactly as funny as I think I am. It’s not my fault none of you appreciate my genius.”</p><p>He watches Eddie’s fist close around the ring. When he looks up, Eddie isn’t looking at him.</p><p>*</p><p>Stan knows. Richie doesn’t know how, because it’s not like he made a point of telling him, but Stan has this uncanny sense for Richie’s bullshit, the same as how Richie can tell what mood Stan’s in with his eyes closed. They’ve been friends since they were born; Stan probably knew Richie was gay before Richie had a chance to work it out for himself.</p><p>“You think Eddie likes you back?” he asks. They’re outside the synagogue, waiting for Stan’s mom.</p><p>Richie picks up a fistful of grass, crumples it in his hand.</p><p>“No,” he says.</p><p>Stan’s head tilts to the side, evaluating. “But you keep flirting with him.”</p><p>“It’s not flirting,” Richie says. “I just say what’s in my head, and it’s not like. None of you take me seriously anyway.”</p><p>“He might, about that.”</p><p>Richie wonders what he’d do if Eddie confronted him, called him perverted or repeated any of the names they’ve both heard from Bowers over the years. He’s not sure he could stand it.</p><p>He says, truthfully, “I’m not sure if I can stop.”</p><p>*</p><p>He probably should’ve tried harder, though, or at least resisted the urge to escalate. But he doesn’t. The endearments come too easily: calling Eddie sweetheart or cutie becomes practically second nature – and it’s not as if it’s so out of character for him, anyway. He gives everyone nicknames, and this urge to pull on Eddie’s proverbial pigtails has been there since the very beginning. Nothing new; nothing incriminating.</p><p>Except for how, obviously, it is.</p><p>They’re round at Richie’s house, because there’s this record that Richie’s been trying to get Eddie to listen to for weeks, and Eddie’s promised to tell him the plot of <em>Pride and Prejudice </em>so he doesn’t have to read the book for English class.</p><p>Richie sprawls out on the bed after he’s set The Cure to play; Eddie sits primly on the edge of the bed and watches him mouth along with the lyrics. There’s this strange tension – Richie can feel it all over him, this tightening like a thousand pinpricks over the surface of his skin – so he puckers his mouth and blows a kiss during the instrumental break.</p><p>“Stop,” Eddie says, quiet. “Stop making fun of me.”</p><p>“Making fun of you?”</p><p>Richie feels like when the elevator goes down too fast. His stomach ties itself up with a neat little bow, because it’s not like he can’t see how Eddie’s reached this conclusion. He makes fun of Eddie a lot, but he never thought – well, he doesn’t know what he thought. Maybe that he could tell the truth without consequences. As if he didn’t know better.</p><p>“It’s <em>mean</em>, Rich,” Eddie says. His fingers are clenched against the bedspread. “Just because you’re straight, and I’m a—”</p><p>“Wait,” Richie says, part because he knows the next word won’t be a good one and part because he can’t allow the misunderstanding to persist for a second longer. “You think I’m straight?”</p><p>“Um,” Eddie says. And then, very fast, “Well, you are, aren’t you? I mean, you talk about girls all the time and we all know you’re mostly full of shit but at the very least there was that dance you went to with Katy-Anne, and she told Melissa Evans that you two kissed outside the gymnasium and she also said that you were smoking, which I <em>hope </em>isn’t true because I’ve told you about the risks a thousand times.”</p><p>“I kissed Katy-Anne and I took one drag from a cigarette and then I threw up,” Richie says.</p><p>“Oh. Well, good.”</p><p>“I don’t feel about Katy-Anne the way I feel about you,” Richie says. He props himself up on his elbows, feels his glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. “I don’t feel about any girl the way I feel about you. Or any boy, actually. My Eddie feelings are all in a separate category.”</p><p>“Oh—” Eddie starts, breath punched out.</p><p>“Although if Stan asked, I’d be his,” Richie says. “Just for the record. Go on with what you were going to say.”</p><p>“You’re an absolute dingbat.”</p><p>Richie sighs, flops back. “I say such nice things to you, and this is what I get in return.”</p><p>He hears Eddie’s breathing, a little too fast. He shuts his eyes.</p><p>Eventually he thinks to say, “If it makes you feel uncomfortable I’ll stop. Not the having feelings for you bit, I think the ship’s pretty much sailed there and we’re both going to have to learn to live with it, but—”</p><p>He feels something against his mouth, and it takes a few startled seconds for him to even realize that Eddie’s kissing him. His eyes fly open and Eddie’s eyes are open, too, wide and panicked.</p><p>“I don’t think this is how you’re meant to do it,” Richie whispers. It gets a little lost in the kiss, but he thinks he gets his meaning across.</p><p>“I just wanted you to stop talking,” Eddie says. He moves back, but not very far.</p><p>“Oh, well, points for creativity,” Richie says. “Is that the only reason, or was there something else?”</p><p>“And also I’ve wanted to kiss you since last fall.”</p><p>“Last fall?”</p><p>“When you let me patch up that cut on your knee.”</p><p>“That’s…specific,” Richie says. He remembers the moment Eddie’s talking about, and he remembers Eddie being annoying about disinfecting his entire leg and he remembers how he felt weirdly fond about it.</p><p>“I thought you knew,” Eddie says. “And that’s why you kept calling me names.”</p><p>“I’d be a real shitty person if I did that, Eds,” Richie mutters. “You shouldn’t want to kiss shitty people.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, my taste is terrible,” Eddie says, and dips down to kiss him again. He closes his eyes, this time, so Richie closes his, too.</p><p>It’s a lot better when he’s not being caught unawares.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is the first of two happy birthdays to my favourite reddie shipper, and in fact the person who is responsible for me shipping the clown boys. if you liked this, you have sierra to thank. sierra, nothing i could ever write would be comparable to the value of your friendship but i hope this made you smile &lt;3</p><p>i am a big fan of comments and other interactions. you can find me on tumblr <a href="https://morgans-starks.tumblr.com/">@morgan-starks</a> and twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/oopshidaisy">here</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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